“I’m so sorry for everything,” she said with a weary sigh.
He turned toward her. “You are not to blame. Remember, we will get through this together.”
“I know.” She rubbed her nose as if fighting back tears. “Your mother and sister were wonderfully kind and understanding last night.”
“They love you, just as I do.” He pulled his shirt over his head, moved to the bed, and kissed her. “Get dressed, love. I can stay long enough for us to enjoy breakfast together. Be quick about it.”
Her dimples reappeared, and she scrambled from bed to yank the bellpull.
Belowstairs, Sebastian sent Fergus to purchase a copy of The Informer. He wanted to know what damage they were facing. Less than half an hour later, Helena joined him in the breakfast room. She wore a simple apron-front frock in a light green shade that complemented her eyes, and her hair had been simply arranged.
“I should call on Olive this morning,” she said. “She should hear the truth from me. I hate to think of her reading the paper before I see her.”
It was still early enough for the countess to remain abed if she had attended a party last night.
The front door opened and closed, and Fergus appeared in the doorway in moments. The paper was tucked under his arm, but he also held a calling card. “Milady, you have a caller this morning. Laird St. Ambrose has requested an audience.”
Helena’s eyes rounded. “Oh! I suppose you should show him to the drawing room.”
Fergus nodded and stalked from the breakfast room.
Sebastian lifted his eyebrows. “St. Ambrose?”
Helena shrugged one shoulder, wiped her mouth with the napkin, and set it beside her plate. “I should see what he wants.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed when a dark red blush spread to her forehead. He pushed back from the table. “We will see what he wants.”
He offered his escort and she linked arms with him.
St. Ambrose was sprawled on the settee, his arm propped along the back and his foot casually crossed over his knee. He rose in deference to Helena and acknowledged Sebastian with a slight nod.
“My apologies for interrupting when you already have a caller, Lady Prestwick.”
“You aren’t interrupting, my lord.”
Sebastian arched a brow. “Indeed not, sir. My betrothed and I were just discussing the details of our wedding.” It was rather possessive of him, he knew.
“Congratulations, Thorne.” The marquess smirked. “And my sympathies, Lady Prestwick.”
Helena cleared her throat and lowered to one of the chairs. “Well, I suppose we should get to the reason you are here. Or should I order tea first?”
Sebastian took up position behind her seat.
“No, please.” St. Ambrose waved away her offer. “I won’t take up much of your time, but I have news. It’s fortuitous the baron is here, since it relates to his interests as well.”
“You saw The Informer,” Helena said. “It wasn’t Cora, not that the culprit matters at this point.”
St. Ambrose offered an enigmatic smile. “I know Cora is not responsible. It was her mother-in-law.”
Sebastian blinked. “I’m surprised The Informer would divulge its source.”
“It is not standard practice, no. Neither does The London Observer, A Lady’s Companion, or The Talebearer. But as the primary investor of every gossip rag in Town, I am privy to the sources. No story is printed without my knowledge and approval.”
Sebastian’s body tensed, his fingers curling into a fist. “What the hell are you saying? That you approved the story about Lady Prestwick?”
“I am saying that story will never be printed.” His eyes burned with a fierceness Sebastian hadn’t known the marquess possessed. “It would ruin Lavinia’s family, and I will protect her and the ones she loves with my last breath. And I will destroy anyone I must if necessary.”
“You truly love her,” Helena said softly.
“Yes, I love your sister.” The marquess shoved his fingers through his hair, his expression miserable. “Cupid is a vindictive little creature, is he not? I love Lavinia and she loves me, but it seems our differences are an obstacle to our happiness.”